On Grandpa's Lap (Story of an Ex-Slave)

Joshua Gaylor was born in Mississippi in March of 1850 to Nathaniel Gaylor and Rosena (no indication of marriage). Joshua Gaylor is my great great great grandfather! I have never had the opportunity to meet him or even see him; for obvious reasons. So I began to use my imagination to formulate what he would look like, how he spoke, and the way in which he viewed himself and the world around him. I imagine that he was very intelligent, but his past circumstances (slavery) caused him to regress into a mental prison. I imagined that I would be sitting in his lap and he would say something like this….......


The more I’ve noticed how much things have changed, the more I am aware of how many things remain the same. We hear the songs of America’s cry for freedom, freedom from the land of their birth, the land of their brothers and sisters, freedom from separatism, a harsh caste system, and a sovereign monarch. They cried freedom! Freedom came, along with independence, but soon freedom just wasn’t enough. Someone had to do the hard work while they sat there enjoying this here freedom.

Someone decides that we should use African cattle. Us strong! Us work hard! Us can lift a heavy load, but us cant be free! They say I’s not even a man, a second class citizen, what ever that means. They allows me to fight in that war against us in the Souf and dem Yankees in the Nawf. After that I just knew that I’d gets me a taste of freedom cause I was a war hero just like the white man. Like dem, I cried freedom, but they calls me a plum fool.

During the war, my head thoughts jumped every whicha-way, but all I could think about was being free! I heard the sounds of the bass drum as its carrier drives on, yet the pounding heart of a young and scared negro soldier sounds off like a series of bursting cannons. The pale faced Sergeant yells, “Do as I say boy!” As he gazes into my large brown eyes, my eyes say Fear! My mouth says, Not! My heart cries Freedom, but my troubled mind yells Never! Well, freedom aint so free after all. Us fought in the war hoping that us would one day be like the white man. So here I sits, 78 year later, and they still call me, Boy!

Meeting Dr Dubois

I have always wondered what I’d say to Dr. W.E.B. Dubois if I would have ever had the chance to meet him. Would my mind wander off into a distant land from fear of holding a conversation with one of the most intellectual and highly educated black figures of all time? The first African American to earn a PhD at the prestigious Harvard University; What would he think of me? Am I or will I ever be good enough to be a part of his Talented Tenth? Will he disapprove of my views on modern day elitists, politics, and social issues? Should I even dare to mention black issues? Should I tell him that we are at war with ourselves now? Will he think that I am merely an arrogant fool that has massive psychological temper tantrums that somehow becomes the black ink in my pen, splattering my mental mucus on clean white paper?

Wait! What if he is intrigued by my thoughts? What if he sees my work as modern renditions of his own sweet lyrical sheet music that received multiple head nods from the brothers and sisters, bouncing to the rhythm and flow of his words as a sign of approval? Groovy baby, Groovy! I can dig it! Would he take me under his wing? Would he feel comfortable talking to me about his constant disagreements with Brother Booker T. Washington and Brother Marcus Garvey? Will he agree with my views on today’s NAACP? Would he tell me about his successes and failures of his intent to empower our people? There are so many things that I want to ask Dr. Dubois, but he left earth long before I first opened my eyes. Long before I first opened my eyes to see the world. Long before I first opened my eyes to realize that I was a black boy in a land full of ancient hidden secrets that have evolved into hidden agendas; which my foolish teachers neglected to discuss in depth. How dare they keep such important information from me!

Well my wish finally came true. I finally got to meet the great Dr. W.E.B. Dubois. He appeared to me in a dream. There I was, all alone in the center of a large classroom surrounded by dingy white painted walls with pictures of what seemed to be all of the black leaders both past and present. The pictures are moving! All eyes were on me! There were so many faces, but I vividly remember Thurgood Marshall and Malcolm X both pointing at me, Phyllis Wheatley leaning out of her frame holding a pencil, Ralph Abernathy smiling with his arms folded, Harriet Tubman sitting in a wheelchair tapping her foot, Martin Luther King on his knees praying while looking directly at me, and last but not least, I saw Dr. Cornel West and President Obama sitting together, both leaning forward in their chairs as if they were waiting for me to speak. I became nervous and instantly put my head down and closed my eyes. I was too afraid to look up and make eye contact with any of them.

When I finally decided to open my eyes, I noticed that there was paper scattered all over my desk. I noticed that the hand writing was mine. I started to get that uncomfortable feeling that comes over me when I have writer’s block. I feel disoriented, unorganized, and inadequate among other things. This type of feeling causes me to become depressed, but before I could even fix my mind to focus on becoming depressed, I heard a voice say, “Young man, use your heart, your mind, your intellect, your bad experiences and the good ones. Use what you feel, use what you see, use what you touch and use what you can hear! Listen to God, listen to your community, listen to the people that are afraid to speak out loud, listen to their pain, listen to their fear, listen to their joyous testimonies, listen to their disagreements, listen to their desires; be their voice! If it wont come out verbally, then write it! But above all things, you have to be a Doer! A doer is a honest, fair leader, who knows the people and works diligently to help his people actually sit in the seat of success.”

“What you need to realize is that my world has evolved into yours. The problem is still the color-line, but it goes beyond just a black issue. Now we must work toward helping ourselves and our community, meanwhile taking those steps toward unifying all Americans to become an American Family. A family of a mixture of cultures and ethnicities. Don’t fear son! Don’t fear! You will never be alone, because there are others who are preparing to shake this world as well. You are but one piece of thread, but you are an important piece of the grand tapestry. Find your voice and never stop writing!”

I wake up and walk over to my desk……..AND I BEGAN TO WRITE


THANK YOU DR. DUBOIS

YOU KILLED US

Today I thought about death. As a child I feared death, but as I matured, death didn’t seem so bad. Death became my friend. As you know, there are a million ways to die, but one particular cause of death clinched to my mind. Murder!! I asked myself, “what would be the worst way for me to be killed?” I immediately thought to myself, “To be murdered by the hands of my own brother”. My own brother, meaning any man who looks just like me. What would hurt worst wouldn’t be the bullet of hate that pierced the heart where my love for my fellow brother abides; Neither the multiple stab wounds ejecting the blood of my ancestors. Each plunge into my colored flesh is deeper than the last. His cold fist continuously strikes my face which was the same color as my brother’s a few minutes ago. In each blow I feel his pain. I feel his hate. I feel his fear, but I am the one dying! He has not only killed me, but he has also killed my ancestors. He killed my past. He killed my future. He killed us! My spirit looks over my lifeless body for only a second. I am dead! I cease to exist, but my brother lives. I look to my brother, his t-shirt stained with my blood, sweat sliding down his chocolate colored face, his large nostrils expanding, sucking in the stench of my carcass . He’s trembling with fear of the unknown. What now? I walk over to him and say, “Brother! You killed us!” But he cannot hear me, no matter how loud I scream. I kept telling myself, “I am dead. I am only a spirit”, but part of me felt like I was being ignored. “Brother, can you hear me? You killed us!” As he walks away from the case that once contained my spirit, he forgets that I even existed. “Fuck that Nigga”, he says to himself. I tried my best to grab him by the shoulder, but I’m only a spirit. We no longer share the same world. Everyday I try to speak to my brother, but he wont listen. “You killed us! You are my brother and I love you. You took my life, but I still love you. You didn’t know! You didn’t know that we suffer from a long history of violence. Black violence! They killed people like us! Now they have allowed us to kill each other so the blood will no longer be on their hands. They chained people like us! When those chains were removed, they neglected the cold, heavy chain that enslaves our minds. You killed us, but you didn’t know!” You killed another brother. You killed us! Another child is fatherless. You killed us! Another sister is now a single black female raising a son by herself, you killed us! My death has angered my loved ones. They want to retaliate. You killed us! You have made the cage designed for us, even more crowded. You killed us! You have been labeled unfit to live as a “normal” citizen. You killed us! You have succeeded in proving to them that we are animals and blood thirsty savages. You killed us! You killed us, but you didn’t know! My brother still cannot hear me. He still feels the need to “keep it 100” by showing his aggression to prove that he is a “real man”, lashing out at our other caged brothers. But today was different! My brother ran into a brother that was bigger and badder than he was. He too suffered from the disease that infects our minds. I watch my end being repeated! My brother plays the role of me. Our other brother plays the role of him. And now I look over my brother’s lifeless body! The blood of his ancestors running across the wet floor into a drain leading to the unknown. I wanted to watch him suffer, but I am my brother’s keeper. As I watch his spirit rise from his body, I extend my hand to help him. “Brother, Take my hand!” He looked up at me and became shocked at the sight of a figure of a life taken during his former life. I helped my brother up and asked him if he ever thought of me? “Everyday”, he said. “Life and death kept us from communicating, but our spirits live on. Now we must talk! I love you brother. You killed us, but you didn’t know.” “Know what”, he said. I proceeded to tell him about the history of us and our long history of violence. Black violence! Tears began to roll down his face which its color resembled mine. He grabbed me and embraced me ever so tightly. “I’m so sorry brother, I’m so sorry! I didn’t know”, he said repeatedly. “It’s ok my brother, it’s never too late to save another”, I said. Then I saw a light come from above me. I gaze into the beautiful sky and there they were; my ancestors and loved ones that have gone on before me. They were rejoicing! “Well done my child! Now you can come home”, a voice said to me. I look to my brother as I ascend to heaven and say, “Now you know!” My brother looks down at the case that once contained his spirit for only a second. He then walks over to his killer, his brother, my brother, our brother, and stands by his side. “My brother! You killed us, but you didn’t know”, he said. Now my brother is telling the story. Its not my story, not his story, but our story! What a way to die!!

Mrs. Ippi

Where I come from, race is a very sensitive subject. No one really likes to talk about it unless they are around skin tones that resemble their own. Mississippi has matured over the years, but she still suffers from the bruises of her previous relationship with Racism. She has gained enough strength to leave him and focus on her new love, Unity! However, just like any man that cannot/will not let go of his ex, Racism tries to sneak his way back into Mrs. Ippi’s life with an intent on foraying her relationship with Unity. Racism is never alone! He is always accompanied by his boys Inequality, Prejudice, and Injustice. Racism loves being with his homies, but he is more obsessed with the idea of controlling Mrs. Ippi. Racism (on numerous occasions) allowed his boys to strip her naked, rape her until she lost consciousness and all feelings of self worth. She didn’t feel like a woman. He had no sympathy for her children as well. Racism hated Mrs. Ippi’s children because they didn’t look like him. In his eyes they were all a bunch of Niggers, Crackers, Wetbacks, Jews, Red Savages, and Chinks who were born only to bring hell on earth. He attempted to turn her children against one another resulting in blood shed and death. But one day, Mrs. Ippi had had enough! She couldn’t take the physical/mental abuse any longer. She was tired of being the subject of every Blues song. She was tired of pressing her fine white Cotton against her face only to see it drenched in blood. This incongruous relationship could not continue and this became her axiom. She knew that in order to leave this relationship, she would have to fight her way out. She wanted freedom and prosperity for her children and herself. One day, she met Unity. Unity was beautiful, intelligent, kind, and gregarious among other things. He loved her children regardless of their differences. He loves the smell of the Magnolia that blossoms so beautifully in her hair. Mrs. Ippi was hesitant to get involved with this unfamiliar spirit due to her previous scars, fear of loving another, and getting hurt a second time. Unity was a gentleman. He had fallen in love with Mrs. Ippi and had made up in his mind that he would be patient with her and would do whatever it takes to make her smile again. For her children, he didn’t try to win them over with money or material things. Instead, Unity brought smiles, laughter, brotherhood, sisterhood, integrated education, mentorship, spirituality, equal opportunities, and understanding of differences. His intent was not to impress Mrs. Ippi, because these gifts came from his heart. ‘It was just the right thing to do,” he said. Today, Mrs. Ippi still has not fully submitted herself to Unity. She wants to love him! She wants to be with him, but she is afraid! She’s afraid of change, afraid of what racism might do to destroy this new union, and afraid of losing more children. She still cries a River when she is reminded of her past. Yet Unity is still around, waiting on her to receive him. “Im going to wait for her, no matter how long it takes. Until then, I will continue to be sprung. I will continue to do things for her and her children. I will continue to attempt to bring joy in her life no matter how tough it gets. She will be mine! I know that I will never love another like Mrs. Ippi.” IT HAS BEEN OVER 50 YEARS!! UNITY IS STILL WAITING!!

Letter To Her Other Man

How grateful I am to you, for this marvelous creature you have blessed me with. I must say that the female species has to be one of your greatest creations. After all of these years, I never thought that I would be able to love a woman whole-heartedly. I am so in love with her spirit. The fact that she seeks a stronger relationship with you and consults with you in regards to our relationship makes my spirit rejoice. Kind sir, how is it that my love for this woman and our love for you make this relationship blossom?

Tis great to know that when I look at her, I can also see you.

Tis great to be granted the opportunity to love and protect such a gift.

Tis great to know that in her heart you dwell.

Tis great to know that she has made room in her heart for me, right next to thee.

I know that I will never be able to compete with you to win her love. That will always be a losing battle. As a man who admits his undying love for you as well; I will never allow my love to choose me over you your majesty. You are the driving force of our lives.

You are the natural adhesive that keeps us together, even when we hurt one another.

By loving him, he has allowed me to love her. Her desire to seek him and receive his favor draws me closer; for I desire the same. Oh lord, humbleness! Humbleness I need in order to be able to understand her emotions. Patience! Patience I need when those emotions may seem unstable.

Kind sir, Which would be greater, man after thine own heart, or man and woman bonded by love ordained by thee while after thine own heart at the same time?

When I think of my love, I can hear you saying, “Peace, I give unto you. For your love for her and your love for me is unconditional”.

My lady has another man!

And I am comfortable with sharing her with another.

I AM HER LOVER, BUT HE IS HER LORD!

　

Mo Money, Mo Problems

I don't know if it's just me, but at times I feel like an alien surrounded by a mass number of strange creatures who are similar to me in many ways, but mentally we share no connection. (especially when it comes to money) It seems as if my generation has some how been transformed or have taken a detour into a materialistic/greedy realm that causes them to believe the American Dream simply means "having stuff" or the means to get more of it so that you will forever have a happy life. We have become the generation that is only moved by MONEY!! money, money, and more money!!

"Money is my Motivation!"

"If you aint talkin bout money, you aint talkin bout me"

"I look like money, smell like money...."

"F*** the H03$! Im bout my money"

"Rise and grind, Lets get this money"

THE LIST GOES ON!!

The truth is we all need money to buy the things we need, but when those "wants" heavily exceed those needs, we then start to see a pattern of over spending and an obsession for more when that "fuel" runs low. Our crooked determination of keeping up with the celebrities, living your life based on Glamour, and your eagerness to have the latest "it thing" or trend is actually blinding you from seeing your real PURPOSE in life. I'm not saying that you have to go through life as a bum, but don't let it be the "thing" that guides you throughout your life's journey. Having that type of mindset will only result in you going in circles, broke, bitter, and money hungry. I admit that i do like the finer things in life, but I will NEVER let it rule over my life. It blinds you from seeing the bigger picture.

There's an artist that says, "The only people who believe that money ain't everything are the people who never have it." (I guess that's how it goes) I'll let you be the judge in determining if this is a true statement or if he's basically an idiot. Out of all the rap songs about money I've ever heard in my life, "Mo Money, Mo Problems" has to be the most honest one of all. The issue is that my generation cant focus on their main purpose, because they are so focused on the Purpose of the dollar. In all actuality, God supplies/blesses us with everything we need (money included), but we then become greedy with our "wants" and abuse the blessing that was intended to help with our NEEDS!! Then, we begin to cry and pray when things get bad and wonder why we're back at Stage 1. (because you lost focus) Money is the root of All evil and we cannot deny that we have all been its victim!!

As young African Americans, money tends to come into our hands and leaves before we can blink an eye. One of my mentors stated, "Even before black people get money in their hands, they have already made up in their mind what they're gonna spend it on". There is no need for me to explain that, because it's pretty self-explanatory right? We need to start focusing more on our Purpose and a little less on the Price!! Some of you may one day be rich, but I'm sure that is NOT your main purpose in life. What will you do after you become rich, besides try to stay rich. More problems will arise and people will look and treat you differently. The bible says, to whom much us given, much is required. You want that lifestyle, but you don't want to go through the test in trials in order to have it. Nothing in life is free. If God blesses you money, then you owe him!! When you start buying into the media's perception of the American Dream, money becomes your purpose (among other things) and sooner or later MONEY BECOMES YOUR GOD!!

All I'm asking is that you try looking past what money can do for you and start focusing on your real purpose in life. Find out what your purpose is and stay focused on that. By staying focused on your main purpose, God will provide you with more than you can imagine (money included), but you cant lose focus. Start saving, investing, giving to those who really need it (circumstances), etc. Don't be blinded by what you see as the American Dream because it will lead to destruction. (we walk by faith/not by sight) The American Dream is not STUFF. Money can be a blessing or a curse. You control it! Don't let it control you and don't EVER let it become your GOD!!

FULFILLING YOUR MAIN PURPOSE IN LIFE, IS THE AMERICAN DREAM!! FIND IT!!

Little Man, Big Ego

I think I was about 11 years old when I began to question why I was always the smallest or shortest male in any surrounding. As years went on I began to notice that most of my friends were shooting up like sky scrapers and even the ones who were my size and height began gaining weight and getting taller as well. This concern never really bothered me until I became a teenager. We all know how our bodies went through changes and that emotional rollercoaster that seems as if it would never end. Well I went through all of that, accept I didn’t really have a pimple phase and my voice didn’t really change tremendously like my friends (at least I don’t think so). People still assume Im a child today. lol I can only recall the hair growth (everywhere), a little weight gain, and my abnormal desire for sex. I would always question my appearance in my mind, but would never do it in public. I have always been confident, outgoing, obsessed with women, popular blah blah blah, but I felt like I was missing out on actually “growing up”.
I was never the buff teen that I assumed girls went for. I have always been small, but I have always taken care of my body. I told myself that If God wasn’t going to make me buff like all of the other guys, then I would at least keep this body that I have cut and in shape. Most of the time, my body was the only thing that I was ever insecure about. (at times it still is) Some girls (who have actually seen me shirtless/etc) would say that my body was fine for a person my size. As the bigger guys were getting the “damn he fine” treatment, I was getting the, “awww, He is soooo cute” treatment. I thought they were just being nice. I was never and still not the typical Macho Man that lives and breathes sports, but I was involved in almost every organization you could think of including track and soccer. I had no choice but to keep my body in shape. It was always me competing against everybody.
All men can not lie and say that they didn’t go through that phase when they questioned the size of their MOJO compared to other dudes. It doesn’t make you gay or whatever, but lets admit that it happens. It somehow determines your confidence. It’s in our DNA to want to compete with other males and be the top dog with the “big swang”. Being that I was small, I just knew that everyone else would make me look like a damn cocktail weenie. Lmao You began to notice some things maybe when you are showering after practice or a workout. Through those unintentional glimpses I was like, well I definitely don’t have a problem in the meat department. In high school and mostly around Jackson everybody knew me because I could dance. That was one of my ways of luring girls into my web. After a while, my nickname in the female community became “WOOSH”. I hated that name and I still do now. I didn’t mind the attention neither did I mind the sexual favors, but I wasn’t the type to like my business out like that, even though it does happen………but anyway

I can remember one incident in class when two of my friend girls were discussing guys that they would date and guys that they would f***. When my name came up, I tried to act as if I wasn’t paying attention, but I was very curious to know what they thought about me. One of the girls said that I was really cute and if I was a little bit taller, she would talk to me with the quickness. At that point I didn’t know whether to be flattered or mad. The other girl, whom I had a major crush on and had heard about “the rumor”, said that she wouldn’t date me because I was too short, but she would have sex with me out of curiosity. (lol I’ll leave that there) I still think about that moment today.

It is a known fact that people will over indulge in the things that make them standout in order to hide the things that they lack. Men know that this is true and they hate when women admit it. Some men work out constantly to maintain a marvelous physique, but some do that to make up for the lack of swing between the legs. Every man has a way of making their best features stand out. When I entered college, my reputation followed me. Of course you had the females that were obsessed with the huge football player that couldnt form a complete sentence. The people that I hung with including myself weren’t like most of the black males on campus. We were moderately conservative, didn’t dress like people would expect young black men to dress, yet down to earth, uber talented, free spirited, popular, heavily involved, part of the freshman elite, and honestly some down right whores! I was still the shortest person in the group, but my presence was always known and at times I stood out even when I didn’t want to. By this time I knew that I would never be the model type and that I probably would never grow. I just knew that I would never become an attractive man. I would stay the little cute guy.
It was always placed in the back of my mind so that no one would ever notice that my body, more so than my height was my insecurity. Half of my college life was full of sex/alcohol. Getting either one of those was no problem at all. It had gotten so bad that having the most sex partners became a game. I still feel bad about the things I have done, but during intercourse with any of those women I would always think that they couldn’t possibly think I am physically attractive. I would always put in my mind that it must be the popularity, maybe she wanted one of my other boys first, maybe she’s looking for a status boost, maybe she cant get sex from anybody else, or maybe she’s curious about what’s in my pants and if I can Sho Nuff use it. After a while I was just having sex just to prove a point. (That my Johnson wasn’t small).
This became my way of coping. Sex/Alcohol became a big part of my personal life. It would sometimes stress me out and had a very huge affect on my academics. It took prayer, mentors, family, and friends to get me out of that depression period. It had gotten so bad that I was taking six bottles of meds for six different things. Wasn’t sleeping, eating properly, overly active, lost a lot of weight blah blah blah. I was just physically, mentally, spiritually, and emotionally drained. I was really good at hiding most of it, but some people could even see my pain from a distance.

Now that I am older and sort of free from that insecurity, I realize that I have accomplished so much through these few years on this earth that people may not accomplish in a lifetime. I notice that even in a room full of tall people I can still be the big giant, because as my mentor would say, “leaders are models without a height or weight requirement.” I admit that I sometimes stand out unintentionally and I know that it intimidates some men at times (even the muscle heads). My bright personality, intelligence, creativity, well-roundedness, ability to demand attention without causing a scene, outspokenness, and confidence is what I believe draws people to me. Last night I was told (by #oneofmyfollowers whom I had just met) that my choice of words/tweets made it seem as though I was tall. I began to laugh, because that actually made me feel so good inside. I know that I will never be tall or buff, but I am attractive in so many other ways and any female that can look past the small physical frame and see what’s really attractive (inside) then she is indeed “A TRUE WOMAN” and it not only makes me feel buff, but it makes me feel taller than any man!